


The Drowning Boy and the Water Maiden

by agentx13



Category: Captain America (Comics), Marvel (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Royalty, F/M, Original Fairy Tale, mermaid au, sharon carter month
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:35:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27993858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentx13/pseuds/agentx13
Summary: The creature that lives in the water has never seen someone give up their lives to save someone else before, and she's impressed and confused enough that she lets Steve live. But that's only their first meeting...
Relationships: Sharon Carter/Steve Rogers
Comments: 3
Kudos: 14
Collections: Sharon Carter Month





	The Drowning Boy and the Water Maiden

When Steve was very young, his mother told him a story. Over time, he came to take the story for granted. He wasn’t a child anymore, he hadn’t heard the story since before his mother died. But then came the moment when the village children played football in the field beside the stream, the second that Steve, passing by, saw young Harold running to stop the ball, running too fast to stop in time. Maybe Harold didn’t even realize the stream was so close, but Steve did, and Steve ran to cut him off. He knew Harold’s family, knew how Harold’s parents would mourn the death of their son. He couldn’t stand by and do nothing.

He got there just in time, throwing Harold away from the stream toward a patch of grass. His satchel, containing his books, art supplies, and homework, swung dangerously around him, toward the stream, and pulled him off-balance. He knew what was going to happen next. He had to die sometime, he supposed grimly. No one would mourn him as they would Harold, but at least Steve had done something in his life.

He hit the cold water. _A long time ago,_ he heard his mother’s voice say, _when you were barely born, the princess was taken from her palace..._

The water was piercing cold, clawing at his clothes. Brambles of plants long dead scratched at his flesh. He thrashed instinctively. Maybe there was a chance, he told himself. If he could use the brambles to climb upward… if he could fight against the current...

_The king and queen were heartbroken,_ his mother’s voice continued. _Their tears were so numerous that they formed a stream that cut through the kingdom and lead to the sea._

He hadn’t heard his mother’s voice in ages, had forgotten how it sounded, soft and caring and loving. As much as he wants to sink into it and sleep forever, he can’t. Not yet. He can accept death, sure, but he also accepts that it doesn’t have to happen _now._

His lungs started to burn. He wanted to breathe, he wanted to breathe so badly, but he knew as soon as he did, that it kill him.

_This stream isn’t like others. It was born of heartbreak, and in kind it causes nothing but heartbreak. Whatever it takes, it keeps. That is its nature, and that’s why you must never go near it, not for any reason._

Steve felt something encircle him, almost like arms, and the chill dissipated, suddenly replaced by a warmth. He gasped in surprise, then, the air burning his lungs, took several more breaths. He was dead, he realized, and his mother had come to take his soul. But no, he realized. The arms were too small, but- but he _was_ breathing, wasn’t he? And he wasn’t inhaling water. He coughed. He must be dead.

“Did you save that boy?”

Steve turned. He was definitely dead, he decided, because there was no other way to explain what he was seeing. A creature, slender and unclothed, no bigger than he was, her skin blue and her hair white. She looked ethereal. Beautiful.

Dangerous.

He swallowed. “Uh. Hi.” His voice echoed faintly. He had to be dead. There was no way this was real.

She tilted her head to the side, watching him with wide, flat, unblinking black eyes. “Hello,” she said politely. “Did you save that boy?”

“Harold? Yeah. I’ve known him all his life. I couldn’t let him die.”

“Many fall into the water and are mourned by people who have known them all their lives,” the creature said. “None of them take their place.”

“Maybe they lack opportunity,” Steve suggested.

“Some of them push them into the water,” she said, almost sounding angry. “And then they cry in front of other people about how foolish the child was to play near the water.”

Steve frowned. “Harold and his friends _were_ being foolish,” he agreed. “But no one pushed them in. That’s monstrous.”

She considered him for a moment. “Why did you save him? You must know it means you would die instead.”

Steve nodded. “I know. But no one will mourn me like Harold’s mom would mourn him.”

She considered.

Steve realized he was no longer being pulled by the current. And he could see the walls of the stream, almost as if there was a soft, inexplicable light around them. He gulped at the sight of a skeletal soldier nearby, his helmet still on.

“He was noisy,” she said, following his eyes. “He yelled at me.”

Steve frowned. “He shouldn’t have done that. Was he scared?”

She nodded.

“Were you scared?”

She nodded again.

“Then he definitely shouldn’t have yelled at you,” Steve told her. “Yelling at someone who’s afraid doesn’t help anyone’s fear.”

She looked up, toward a line of bright light. Steve realized it was the water’s surface. “You aren’t like the others. You aren’t crying at all.”

“I’m going to die. I know that. No use crying over it.”

She laughed. It was an odd, melodious sound that made the water feel warmer. “I like you.”

“I like you, too,” he said. He did. There were worse things to see before he died. She might be completely unlike anything he’d seen before, but there was a beauty to her.

She was quiet. “What if you don’t die?”

“It’s inevitable that I will one way or another.”

“What will you do while you live, if you do not die today?”

Steve shrugged. “I always wanted to be an artist. But I know how unlikely it is.”

“Would you help people?” she asked. Was that wistfulness in her voice?

He turned and met her eye. “Yes,” he said. His voice was heavy with sincerity.

“You mustn’t tell that I let you live,” she said. “She’ll be very cross with me.”

“Who?”

But she was already moving upstream. Steve could feel the water moving past him, but it felt like swimming in the summer sea. It was almost pleasant. “I don’t meet many people who help others,” she said instead. “I think the world needs more people like you.”

“Thank you?” Steve paused. The light above was getting closer. “What’s your name?”

She looked at him as if surprised. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I don’t think I’ve had one in a long time. They call the water Strid, though, so I suppose it must be something like that. You live by the water, don’t you?”

Steve nodded. “My backyard is right up against it.” His mother hadn’t been able to afford a house in town, so they were more out in the country, and Steve had been warned repeatedly not to go near the stream. If the creature thought it was odd, she didn’t mention it.

Instead, she only said, “I thought you looked familiar.”

They broke the surface of the water. Steve suspected he looked like a drowned rat, but she looked glorious, he thought. Her blue skin was taut across her fine bones, her white hair, tinged blue, pooled around her. He stared.

“You should go,” she said. Out of the water, her voice was soft and musical.

“Right,” he said quickly, realizing that no other crush he’d had before could compare and not knowing what to make of that. He swam – flapped, more like – to the edge of the stream. She had to help him out, and he lay panting on the grass. “Thank you,” he said, but when he looked, she was gone.

* * *

Too many people saw him go in to pretend he hadn’t. Still, all he said was that he didn’t want to talk about it, couldn’t remember anything, were they sure it was him? People didn’t believe him, but he knew that so long as he didn’t engage, they’d have no recourse but to make up more and more outlandish stories until no one believed them or drop it altogether.

Two nights passed before he found his satchel on the grass in his backyard. Opening it, he found all of his supplies and books inside. They were wet, of course, but it helped to reassure him that he hadn’t dreamt meeting her.

It also gave him an idea.

* * *

It began mostly as an experiment. He painted her, added a book of fairy tales and a note of thanks, and tucked it beside the stream under a bush in his backyard. He went to school, and when he returned, they were gone. He could only hope no one else stole them.

Days passed, and the book of fairy tales reappeared. When Steve went to retrieve it, her head broke the surface, just as beautiful as he’d imagined.

He swallowed. “Hi.”

“Hello.” She moved closer. “I hope you don’t think I’m ungrateful.”

“You saved my life.” He crouched beside the water. “I guess it’s yours now.”

She smiled as if he were joking. “I enjoyed the book,” she said, her voice even softer and more musical than he remembered. “I must confess something.”

He made himself comfortable, sitting cross-legged near the water. It was dangerous to so much as dangle a leg in the stream, he knew, and he couldn’t count on her to save him every time. “All right.”

“I read the books in your bag.” She looked almost ashamed, if beauty could look ashamed.

He couldn’t suppress his grin. “And?”

“I enjoyed the history book the most.”

He grinned. “My textbook?”

“I suppose.”

“I’ll get you more history books.”

Her black eyes sparkled. “Really?”

“Of course.”

She hesitated. “And – perhaps – a pencil and some paper? So I can leave you messages, too?”

His heart fought to break free of his chest, and Steve beamed. “Of course.”

She smiled, and she quickly sank beneath the water as if embarrassed until only her eyes, forehead, and hair were visible. She bobbed up again after a moment. “Thank you.”

And then she was gone, but Steve stayed by the water, not wanting to leave just yet.

* * *

The nights and days turned to weeks and months. She was a voracious reader, and she helped him with his homework sometimes just as he helped her identify which stars were which. She had a child’s grasp on how the world worked, but an old woman’s when it came to human nature. He taught her to sketch – something not easy for her with her webbed fingers – and one day he found sketches of men, women, and children from the village as well as an account of their crimes, how they had pushed people into the stream or held them underneath the water. Not knowing what else to do, Steve left them on the steps of the constabulary’s office. He was, he admitted, curious what the constables would make of the accounts of what the drowned had experienced after supposedly dying. The children who had called for their mothers, the wives who had cursed their husbands.

He expected word to get out about them – constables in a small village couldn’t keep their mouths shut – but what he didn’t expect was how people started treating the stream differently.

“Could you help me understand something?” she asked when she next reappeared days later.

He exhaled in relief. He’d waited here for hours each night and had started to suspect she wouldn’t return. “If I can, I will.”

That was all the encouragement she needed. She held up a handful of flower. In her other hand were shells and baubles. “What are these? And why do people keep leaving them beside the water or throwing them in?”

He frowned at the flowers. He thought he understood the rest, but the flowers? “Do they say anything?”

“They hope the stream accepts their offerings. Offerings for what, though?”

Steve grinned. “I don’t know, really. I sent your statements and drawings to the constables.”

“Law enforcement,” she said in understanding. She hadn’t been familiar with the concept at first.

“Exactly. And word got out. I think some people think the stream is either cognizant somehow or there’s a spirit in it that sees what people do, hears what they say. Maybe they want good fortune, or protection, or maybe forgiveness.”

She huffs a breath at that last bit, as if thinking how unlikely it is. She bobs in the water for several seconds as she thinks. “I’m a spirit?”

“They think you are.”

“Hm.” She spun lazily in the water. “I feel too corporeal to be a spirit,” she said at last.

“You look too corporeal to be a spirit,” he said.

She floated back and forth. “Should I do more?”

“If you like.”

She began to sink beneath the water. “Steve.”

“Hm?”

“Are there other spirits in other streams?”

“I’ve never heard of one,” he admitted.

“Hm,” she said. “I wonder why I’m different.”

“I’m glad you are,” he told her.

She slid lower in the water, hiding everything but her eyes and the top of her head; he knew now she did that whenever she was pleased, embarrassed, or confused. Another moment, and she was gone.

* * *

Classes the next day were interrupted by a woman’s screams. Everyone rushed out of the buildings in town to find Marian hugging her son’s body. He’d disappeared in the stream years before at two years old, and even after all this time, he looked as if he’d merely fallen asleep.

They’d all thought he’d fallen into the water by accident, Steve remembered. It wasn’t until the creature in the water had written her account that anyone suspected his father had dropped him in.

He looked around the crowd, anxious, knowing that she was in the water somewhere, watching the crowd just as he was. He was afraid to think what she would think of Marian’s screams. Would she understand why Marian was rocking George’s body and crying inconsolably? Would she understand why people were warily eyeing the stream?

He needn’t have bothered. She understood the worse aspects of human nature better than he did, and she seemed intrigued by the better aspects. That night, they talked about anything but Marian, but the next night, she seemed pleased. There was a thin, curled smile on her lips.

“Marian came by to thank me this morning,” she said. “I think it’s silly. Perhaps I shouldn’t have kept what belonged to someone else so long.”

“Why did you?”

“I didn’t know what else to do,” she admitted. “I’ve been taking care of them all as best I could. The nice ones, at any rate.” She looked troubled. “Though now I must wonder if I was mistaken in whether they were nice or not. Perhaps some were just afraid, and that made them behave badly.”

“Perhaps.” He lay on his stomach, his chin propped on a fist. “I heard there’s a funeral planned for George.”

She smiled again. “Marian said she’d finally be able to bury him in a proper way. I don’t know what that means, but she said she can visit him now. She didn’t know she was talking to me, of course.”

“Of course.”

“And I’m getting more offerings. I don’t even have bodies for some of them.”

She said it as if it were odd to get offerings when she had no bodies to give in return, and Steve thought wryly that they came from very different backgrounds. “Maybe they’re not looking for bodies.”

“I think so, too.” She hesitated. “I’m worried she’ll find out that I’m doing more than I ought.”

“She?”

“She.” She nodded. “The one who put me here. She said I can’t leave. This is my place now.”

Steve didn’t know if he should reassure her, question her more, or fight for her. “Are you afraid of her?”

She backed away from the water’s edge. Time passed. Steve’s nose started to itch. “Yes,” she whispered.

Steve scooted closer. “I don’t know how much I can do to help, but I’ll do all I can.”

She looked up at him, her eyes large and black and glistening.

“I swear,” he told her.

She sunk beneath the water, still watching him, and with a faint splish sound disappeared underneath.

* * *

More bodies appeared the next day. And the next. And the next. Along with belongings that people had lost in the stream over the years, some with sentimental value, some not.

The stream was now becoming legend, and Steve was alarmed to see more visitors from out of town as the days went by. He didn’t see her in the stream, and he wondered desperately what she was doing, hoped she wasn’t in trouble. Even the King had supposedly heard of the stream giving up its dead, and there was a rumor he was even planning to visit the village. If the King had heard, surely whoever she feared had also heard. 

It was nearly a week before he came home from work and found a naked woman in his backyard.

* * *

Her skin was white, so white it was as if the sun had never touched her. Her hair was blond. Her eyes, when she opened them, a deep brown. Her cheekbones were high but soft, her skin supple. Despite the differences, he knew this was her, and he thought her just as beautiful as ever. Though, perhaps, not so frightening and wondrous.

“I haven’t been on land in a long time,” she said, embarrassed. Her toes hung over the stream, water still dripping down. Her legs were too weak to support her weight out of the water.

He smiled down at her and brushed her hair out of her face. “I’ll help you,” he promised. He got a blanket from inside, covered her, and carried her inside. She looked around in wonder the entire time, asked about the flowers in his mother’s garden, the utensils in his kitchen, the clock on the mantelpiece. She moved her legs and wiggled her toes sometimes as if amazed as how they worked, and he couldn’t imagine loving anyone else.

Over the following nights, he helped her build up her muscle and learn to walk, cook, clean, garden, whatever she wanted. She helped him around the house with a smile and excitement he hadn’t felt for the place in years, but now he was started to enjoy his house just as much as he did the backyard beside the stream. In the morning before he went to school, he’d help her back to the water until she was strong enough to walk there on her own. As time passed, he’d arrive home to find she’d beaten him there and was already cooking or cleaning or gardening, and they’d sit together and read or talk until nightfall.

It was a still and pleasant night when she said, “Steve.”

“Hm?”

She ducked her head, and for a moment he expected her hair to pool in a white cloud around her face. There was no water to hide beneath, but he recognized the gesture. “Can you help me understand making love?”

He smiled at her. “I can try,” he promised.

* * *

It was two weeks after when the King’s heralds arrived. Steve’s school was told to take several days off as it would be used to house the nobles that couldn’t fit in the hotel. Hoping to make some extra money, he found work catering to the royal party. He brought the news home, but she didn’t seem as pleased. “The King’s men,” she said, somewhat crossly, “dropped rocks in the stream this morning. Not even pebbles. They didn’t think I was there. I chucked them back at them.”

Steve chuckled and wrapped his arms around her. “Bet that took them by surprise.”

“I’d like to get a job,” she said thoughtfully. “Do you think I could?”

“I think you could do anything,” he said honestly.

She smiled up at him.

The next day, he introduced her to his boss as a family friend’s daughter. Everyone seemed to understand right away that the two of them were a pair, perhaps even thinking she was some sort of mail-order bride, but she was so excited to be there, to have a job, to hustle and bustle here and there and see the sights, so curious about everyone and everything, that no one can bring themselves to say anything unkind, and he wonders if he could live like this. With her.

When it came time to giving her name, she replied “Astrid.” She looks over at Steve, and her eyes twinkle as if sharing a joke only they know.

* * *

The town arranged a special welcome for the King. The two of them were put on catering duty but were given the morning to see watch the King and the other nobility parade into town. She stood beside him, watching the pageantry with excitement. But there were times where her face fell and she looked distracted, even perplexed. The fourth time he saw the troubled expression flit across her face, he leaned in to her, wondering if it might be something he could help with.

“There’s something familiar about it, isn’t there?” she whispered. 

“It’s all new to me,” he admitted, glancing at her. He didn’t tell her so, but now he was troubled, too.

She didn’t say anything more, instead watching everything closely, her eyes sharp and suspicious. They were pulled aside to take their positions serving some of the lower-born nobles. Tables were set up in a field beside the stream, with garlands of flowers and banners overhead. To the King, Steve thought, it probably looked like a poor village with meager offerings, but he hoped the King realized how proud the villagers were of their home, how long they had sat in circles to thread the garlands, how early in the morning they’d awoken to hang them. He hoped the King appreciated that effort, because he knew the nobles he and Astrid served certainly didn’t, snapping at them both and otherwise only acknowledging them to demand food or drink. Astrid’s lips pursed, and Steve caught her eye and grinned, rolling his eyes at the nobles’ attitudes. Slowly, she grinned back.

The King came at last, walking in with his closest nobles. Astrid gasped, and Steve could see why. There was more gold and jewels in this small party than he’d ever seen in his life. The King’s robe alone clearly cost more than the entire village. And the King, Steve thought with a sad realization, didn’t look like he fit the role. The clothes were regal, but the man wearing them was wizened with age, deep lines in his face. His hair was perfectly combed, his beard perfectly trimmed, but there was an absent quality about him, as if here and now were the last places he wanted to be. He looked like Marian after George had disappeared.

Steve caught movement out of the corner of his eye and realized belatedly that Astrid had stepped forward. It was too late to pull her back, and seeing the proud and stubborn jut of her chin, he wasn’t sure he would have dared.

“You,” she said, “have no business here.”

The King stared at her. Steve couldn’t name the emotion on his face, or the series of emotions, rather. The depth of each exceeded every word for any emotion he could only faintly recognize. Heartbreak. Hope. Disbelief.

But no anger.

The woman beside him was short. Her rich, chestnut hair was partially covered with a gold-trimmed veil that made her hair shimmer. She was a beauty, and her dress was perfectly designed to show off her more attractive physical attributes. Her facial features were so precise that she looked as if she’d been sculpted by the gods themselves.

But then Steve realized the woman’s eyes were black, and the blue veins in her pale skin reminded him of drowning, and something within him felt uneasy.

The woman laughed. It was a low, melodious sound, but after hearing Astrid’s laugh, there was something discordant to it, as if it were an imitation of laughter from someone who’d never known joy. “Does the girl speak to me?” She looked to the other nobles. “This is why we put down rebellions, is it not?” The words were said with a smile, but her supposed mirth didn’t reach her eyes.

“You will leave,” Astrid repeated, her voice firm. Steve wasn’t the only one who heard and shivered. Unlike them, he knew where he’d felt that cold before. And even now, he could see a hint of blue flush beneath her skin. She didn’t have to be in the Strid to be its guardian spirit.

He stepped forward and took her hand. She closed her eyes and took a breath. The blue disappeared.

“You would do well not to give me orders, child.” The woman’s voice was nearly as cold as Astrid’s.

Astrid’s eyes flashed. “This place is mine.”

“Oh? Where is your name written upon it?” The woman tried to sound as if she were joking, but it lacked warmth, humor. Again, it felt like an imitation from someone with no innate understanding or ability.

“You took my name,” Astrid said. There was a hint, just a hint, of fear, but it was quickly lost beneath her anger and determination. “You took everything I knew before. You took what I was. I will not let you take this place. This place is _mine._ These are _my_ people.”

Steve looked at Astrid. This, he realized. This was the woman she feared. The woman who’d kept her in the stream. He faced forward again, trying to think of how he might defend Astrid if needed.

“And what,” the woman said, and this time there was a cruelty to her voice was that doubtlessly real, genuine, “do you intend to do about it?”

Water rose from the glasses and cups around the room, hanging in the air in tendrils. Nobles, villagers, and servants alike all gasped; the ones who could control their limbs ran.

“You will leave,” Astrid repeated. There was a smile on her lips, but Steve was the only one who felt her hand tremble in his. “Willingly or no.”

The woman turned back to the King and scowled when she saw him staring at Astrid, tears streaming down his haggard face. “You ruined my plans, girl.”

“You should have known better than to come,” Astrid said, her tone light.

“You think yourself stronger than I?” the woman demanded. The blackness of her irises spread throughout her eyes, her skin stretched across her bones and turned thin. Her dark hair broke free of its veil, sweeping around her in a watery current no one could see. People stumbled in panic as they tried to escape; Steve saw men tugging at the King. He planted his feet beside Astrid, determined to protect her even though he didn’t know what he could possibly do. “I am-”

Water hit the woman, wrapping around her neck, her wrists, her ankles, and unceremoniously dunked her in the stream. Just like that, the chill left the air, water dropped into cups, and all was quiet.

“Um,” Steve said. “Did you- Did you just kill her?”

Astrid laughed. “What? No. I’m just trapping her, is all.” She tilted her head to the side. “I can feel it. The sea.” She smiled, and his heart melted at the wonder and joy in her face. “It feels _wonderful_. I’m going to put her somewhere far, far away where she can never harm this place.”

“Sh- Sharon?”

Astrid froze. Slowly, she turned to look at the King. He took a step closer, then another. “Sharon?”

She blinked at him, and Steve crushed the feeling in his chest. He wasn’t losing her, he snapped at himself. She’d never been his.

“F- Father?” She stepped toward the King hesitantly. “I-” She looked to the stream, then to Steve, then to the King again. “I remember,” she said quietly. There were tears in her eyes; he’d never seen her cry before. She brushed away the tears, then looked at her fingers in surprise.

The King reached her and cupped her face in his hands. “It _is_ you. It _is_ you!” And then he pulled her into a hug and fell to his knees, crying.

* * *

They took her away. Steve wasn’t quite sure what had happened; he wasn’t certain she knew, either. Villagers bothered him with endless questions, but he could do little more than shrug. He didn’t have any answers. And even if he did, he wouldn’t share them. Even if he did, he didn’t feel like talking, not anymore.

His house seemed emptier, and he found himself sitting beside the stream, waiting for someone who would never come.

Days passed, and he heard a carriage stop on the road in front of his house. Preparing to tell off another villager, Steve opened the door to find her standing there.

“Uh, hi.”

Her smile was soft. She wore a long gown, and her hair was tied back, a tiny circlet on her head. She looked beautiful, magnificent, and wholly out of his league. As if she’d been in his league when she’d been a stream spirit.

“Hello,” she said politely. “May I come in?”

A man nearby cleared his throat. Another looked Steve up and down. Of course she’d have bodyguards, he thought ruefully.

“It’s all right, Mr. Wilson. I’ve slept with Steve before.” Ignoring their coughs of surprise and not waiting for Steve’s agreement, she stepped into his house. “I should introduce myself now that I know my name,” she said, sounding almost cheerful. Anyone who didn’t know her well would miss the hint of nervousness underneath. “I’m Sharon.”

“A princess, I hear.”

“I prefer ‘budding scholar,’” she admitted.

“Budding scholar, then,” he acknowledged with a smile.

She answered with a smile of her own. “The kingdom owes you a debt,” she said after a moment. “Though Father isn’t advertising that.” She waited for him to respond, then realized he might not understand what she meant. “My parents were not close,” she confessed. “With each other or with me. When I met the Sea Witch, she asked me if I could have one thing, what would it be, and I said I wanted to feel loved. I was young, but I believe I thought that she would make my parents love me. Instead, she took me away. Took my memories away. Even the memory of the bargain she made with me, that I could return home when I knew what it felt like to be loved. All I knew to do was hide in the stream. We think that was her intention – to keep me away while she rose in power. And it worked. Until I met you. And now… well.” She opened her arms. “I’ve returned home. But it doesn’t really feel like home without you there. Would you- would you mind coming home with me, Steve? To my home?” She looked hopeful, unsure. “I’d like you to help me help people. You may have to teach me some of how to do it.”

He started to move closer but caught himself. “I’m not a prince,” he explained.

“You are what I say you are.” Her voice was regal. And then it dropped. “If you say yes.”

He hesitated. “I… I think I should meet your father first.”

“Very well. You may want to pack for a couple nights. The palace isn’t particularly close.”

* * *

He needn’t have worried about her father’s reaction. The King was elderly and unwell, and much of Sharon’s time was spent learning to take over his duties current and old, as well as seeing to him. Much of Court seemed relieved that Sharon was returned, afraid of the war for the throne that would otherwise have occurred.

Her advisers advised her against marrying him, and she ignored them. So did he. 

It took getting used to, her new name, her new clothes. But she was still the person who had saved his life because he was selfless, and he was determined to make her proud. And to see more of the wonder and joy in her face as long as he lived. They often toured the kingdom to see new things, learn new things, and meet new people. She enjoyed making animals out of water for the children to play with, and she soon became known as the Sea Queen, and with her on the throne, no enemy could attack by sea – useful for an island’s defense.

Their reign was one of peace and prosperity. And each of them, their children, and a great many in their kingdom knew what it was to be loved.


End file.
